


The Garden that You Planted Remains

by justbecauseyoubelievesomething



Series: Writer's Month 2020 Prompts [19]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Anomaly (The 100 (TV)), Canon Compliant, Canon Speculation, F/M, Family Feels, Fluff and Angst, Old Married Couple, Post-Canon, Time Travel, deaging, ish, oops i made myself cry again, saying goodbye, soft bellarke
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-27
Updated: 2020-08-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:35:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26142694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justbecauseyoubelievesomething/pseuds/justbecauseyoubelievesomething
Summary: They know every inch of this valley and the surrounding forest. Every beaten path and every trickling creek. Clarke lets the air of her home fill her lungs and squeezes the hand of her husband gratefully and feels happy to be alive.A Bellarke one-shot for Writer's Month 2020. Prompt 19: deaging.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Series: Writer's Month 2020 Prompts [19]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1863823
Comments: 6
Kudos: 57
Collections: Writer's Month 2020





	The Garden that You Planted Remains

**Author's Note:**

> Title from "The Garden You Planted" by Sea Wolf.
> 
> I didn't mean for this to be so soft and sad, but umm... sorry? I'll just go cry some more about this now...

Earth. That’s the dream.

Clarke smiles to herself as she rocks back in her chair, admiring the way the rising sun shines on the dew-soaked grass blades. This is her favorite hour, when the land seems to hold its breath, waiting for the sun to slip over the horizon. She can never quite track it by sight alone, the transformation from line of gleaming fire to yellow star against a blue sky. There’s always a fraction of a second where the sky is shimmering between pink and blue, where the white clouds seem to burst into flames, when she has to close her eyes. When she opens them again, the sun is up, spreading its warm arms across the fields in front of her, dancing right up into her lap to keep her company.

“Good morning, love.”

She smiles again at the familiar tones and tilts her cheek up obligingly for her husband’s usual morning kiss.

“Good morning, sleepyhead,” she teases gently as Bellamy sits in his twin rocking chair beside her. The years have lent a touch of grey to his dark curls and the rugged lines on his cheeks are looking more and more like wrinkles with every passing month, but the way his eyes twinkle at her with something between rivalry and fierce affection is something as unchanging as the cycling seasons.

He passes her a white ceramic mug and she accepts it gratefully, the warm scent of tea washing over her senses.

“I wasn’t in bed, for the record,” he points out, tipping his own chair back comfortably on the curved rockers. “As we all know, the Princess needs her morning tea.”

She shoots him a mock glare over the rim of her mug, but realizes the ineffectiveness of it as she is currently still bathing in the heavenly steam. He grins cheekily and reaches out to rest his hand on the arm of her chair. She doesn’t fight her own urge to lay her hand in his and their fingers intertwine automatically, a practiced move that feels like it’s done by one person rather than two.

They relax together, letting the scent of their tea chase away the fog of sleep as the sun continues to creep higher in the sky. Their chairs rock slightly under their weight, creaking against the floorboards of the porch. Behind them the house they built with their own hands sits like a sentry atop their farmland. Acres and acres of fields, plowed, seeded, and harvested year after year by the two of them. They know every inch of this valley and the surrounding forest. Every beaten path and every trickling creek. Clarke lets the air of her home fill her lungs and squeezes the hand of her husband gratefully and feels happy to be alive.

As their mugs dip closer to empty and the morning birdsong gives way to the chirring of insects in the summer heat, Bellamy grows more pensive and Clarke feels the way he tenses as she finally sets her mug on the floor by her feet and turns to him.

“It’s time.”

He clenches his jaw and it makes her heart ache to see the pain in his eyes. But there’s still that ever present spark. Hope. Joy. Love.

He lifts her hand to his lips and sighs kisses against her skin. Her eyelids flutter as she momentarily is borne along on memories upon memories of Bellamy. Then he drops her hand and stands.

“We should say our goodbyes then. They’re waiting.”

He helps her up and she feels the groan her body gives as she gets to her feet. The years have been kind to them, but old injuries and wounds that never quite healed are starting to come back to bite her in earnest. She chuckles a little and Bellamy tilts his head at her.

“It might be nice,” she says. He raises an eyebrow and she waves her hand. “To have my old body back. A younger body.”

He furrows his brow. “Clarke… you’re beautiful. You know that.”

She laughs again because otherwise she might cry and she tugs him closer again. “I know. You make sure of that.”

He doesn’t hesitate to lean in, closing the gap between them, to pepper her with eager kisses. She really might start crying.

They walk through the house, the kitchen where Bellamy got his arm lodged in the water piping and Clarke could barely help extract him between her giggles. The dining room where the long wooden table stretches in the center of the room, sanded and polished to a smooth finish along the surface. Clarke trails her fingers along the edges, feeling where small dings and scratches had worn their way into the wood over the years. Evidence of the family they built. They pass the stairs leading up to the second story where the bedrooms line the hall and Clarke once again is overwhelmed with a flood of memories; gentle and sweet summer evenings under dusky skies; frozen winter nights when the snow outside crackled underfoot and the glass panes of the windows radiated their own frost. She presses close to Bellamy’s side and his arm squeezes around her in silent understanding as they finally step through the outer door on the far side of their home.

On this side, the house backs up almost directly to the woods. The trees ripple out from the house in long lines, narrow hunting trails hidden beneath the shaded undergrowth. Shining a bright green light at the treeline sits the all-too familiar orb, covered in alien symbols. The anomaly that once brought them home and gave them a chance to heal. To find happiness together.

Bellamy’s hand tightens on Clarke’s shoulder and she feels her breath catch in her throat. Now that same anomaly will be their bridge back into war.

But then her eyes are drawn by the small crowd gathered around the door, waiting for them. The survivors they found here on Earth, hiding and fighting for survival in a harsh wasteland. The last of the Grounders, though no one uses the name anymore. They’re simply a family.

And her children. Her eyes finally fill with tears as her children step forward.

Jake is the tallest, towering over her as he pulls her out of Bellamy’s arms and embraces her himself. She presses her forehead against his shoulder and lets him whisper his goodbyes against her silver hair, knowing her sweet, sensitive boy is holding back tears of his own.

Arthur isn’t much shorter, but he’s more reserved, his hug quick and light. But the way he clings onto her fingertips as his hands slide away tells her all she needs to know about how much her second son loves her.

Finally, Harper steps into her arms, sobbing into her neck. Her sweet, shy Harper. Clarke cradles her daughter and lets her cry, trying desperately to save her own tears for later.

Beside her Bellamy is hugging the others and then the grandchildren are swarming their legs, clamoring for one last hug and kiss from Grandma and Poppa. Then carefully, the rest of their people, their family, push forward to clap their shoulders and say their goodbyes.

Clarke breathes in all the love and sets her chin firmly as she grabs Bellamy’s hands again and they walk alone to the circle of light cast by the anomaly.

She feels the tug at her insides as the green tendrils snake out, seeking someone to transport across the worlds.

Bellamy sighs and when she turns to look at him there are tear tracks disappearing into his beard.

“Hey…” She gives him a little nudge and he turns to her.

“We have a job to finish. We always promised we’d go back for them.”

“I know.” He heaves another shaky sigh, letting his shoulders slump under the weight of their burden. “And we will.”

“Together,” Clarke adds and Bellamy’s eyes brighten ever so slightly at the reminder.

“Together,” he agrees.

They turn towards the light again.

Clarke feels mingled sorrow and joy pulse in her chest.

“We did good here, Bellamy,” she says softly.

His fingers are warm in her own and he makes a little choked hum of agreement deep in his throat.

Without looking back they step into the light.

Clarke feels the odd pulsing of the waves pushing and pulling at her body immediately. Unforming her and reforming her. She can’t breathe, but she finds she doesn’t need to.

It’s with an odd sense of detachment and fascination that she watches as her body vibrates and changes, growing younger by the millisecond.

Bellamy’s grip never wavers and she wonders if that’s normal during anomaly travel. But then they’ve never been normal.

The pulsing waves start to subside and she realizes that the brightness is fading away from a pinpoint of color in front of them. She forces her brain to tell her feet to move and she finds she can walk forward slowly. The tunnel of light around them seems to peel away and they step out onto solid ground, finally drawing in long breaths of air. The green light ripples at the corners of her vision a few more times and then withdraws with a snapping sound.

The ground under her feet is solid. The sky is tinted a fiery orange. And when she turns to Bellamy, his face is smooth, curls silky black, eyes wide with wonder. He reaches out to caress her face and Clarke looks on with awe as his fingers tangle with long blonde hair instead of silver strands.

“We… it worked,” he says breathlessly.

They hadn’t been sure, not even after all the years studying the anomaly. Trying to rewrite the code that would bring them back to their friends.

But here they stand. With not a second having passed. With bodies untouched by the years they experienced together.

Back on Sanctum.

Clarke grabs Bellamy’s hand again and takes a deep breath.

“Let’s find our friends. And finish what we started.”

Time for one, last war.


End file.
